<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>A theft of paperwork, artifacts, and hearts by laughingfrowns</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27779149">A theft of paperwork, artifacts, and hearts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingfrowns/pseuds/laughingfrowns'>laughingfrowns</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5, Persona Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Actual Phantom Thieves (Persona 5), Alternate Universe - Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Metaverse (Persona 5), Blood and Gore, Foster Care, Gen, I'll keep adding tags as I post more chapters, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, P5R spoilers (potentially), Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Violence, Whump, only in the notes though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:22:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27779149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingfrowns/pseuds/laughingfrowns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A no-metaverse AU where Akechi Goro is adopted by Shido Masayoshi and trained as an elite assassin. Akechi dutifully follows orders, building his plan to enact vengeance upon Shido, but is caught by surprise when his latest target, a second-year by the name of Kurusu Akira, fights back. Tasked with an ultimatum, he must take increasingly unconventional measures to succeed on his mission.</p><p>Despite his best efforts and skilled approach, Akechi is backed even further in a corner when he realizes he’s fallen in love.</p><p>[On a break while I get my life together and study for my exams - I'll be back in April! Thanks for your support and patience!]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue - Misdirection pervades (and my image fades of you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lol yes I changed the chapter title. I wasn't really happy with the other one. But now it fits better!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Prologue</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Akechi Goro had known he was alone since he was seven years old. </p><p> </p><p>It was not for a lack of other people, of course. Others tread the narrow path of his life, desecrating pebbled days like stepped-on bubble gum. First, the cops, who entered his modest home. He hated them, their gaping mouths, large hands too slow. They beckoned him away with pity in their eyes, a meek attempt to shield him from the sight of a bloodied bathtub as though he hadn’t been the one to call for them in the first place. Second, the rough grip of social workers, lawyers, suited men who never once showed him the simple courtesy of looking him in the eye. Third, the caretakers. There were several, over the years. They all smiled, they all bid him good morning and goodnight, platitudes stiff and fake. Like oversized dolls. He would yell and shove them, hoping he was loud enough or strong enough to crack the porcelain and see who they really were underneath the caring pretense. Innumerable were the other children. They came and went like a steady stream that overflowed the river bank after a long night of heavy showers. Dirty, grabbing hands; scratching anything that managed to slip their grasp. </p><p> </p><p>The largest stain of all was that of Shido Masayoshi.</p><p> </p><p>Goro’s mother told many stories. Stories of princes and princesses, of old samurai knights and of humble farmers living in the countryside. Stories of old gods, so ancient their true names had been forgotten to all but the winds of time. She spun him fairy tales, gold out of dry straw, with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. She told him stories of his aunts and uncles, of his grandparents, none of whom he had met. He hoped that at least they were real. Some days it was hard to tell. If they were real, then where were they? His mother spoke of laughter, of hope, of comfort and family and warmth. It was nice, to imagine that warmth instead of the cold winter chill that seeped through the cracks in their apartment walls.</p><p> </p><p>Despite never having met Shido, he knew he was real. Goro knew she told the truth when she told him these stories under moonlight, so sweetly accompanied by the harsh scent of sex, booze and cigarette ash. Words choked out behind thick sobs, she would curse Shido’s name, curse her life, curse the burden he left her with. Goro held no illusions - he’d learned at an early age that the dark stories, the ones that exposed the rotten cores of other people, were the true ones. On these nights, he would wrap his tiny arms around her, absorbing her tears into the ratty cloth of his shirt, and he would squeeze. He hoped it was tight enough. He hoped, no, he begged, each time, that this time, <em> this time </em>, he would be enough.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>It was a cold February afternoon when he found her body. </p><p> </p><p>_____</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It was also a cold February afternoon when Shido finally came to him.</p><p> </p><p>At the ripe age of eleven, Goro had long given up on ever escaping from the clutches of the foster system. Returned to the Home from yet another failed attempt with a set of foster parents, all he felt was relief. The orphanage itself had a pitiful excuse for a cafeteria, with sludge that barely passed for food, but at least no one touched him here. No one would grab his wrist too tight when they walked by, no one would hit him when he spoke. No one would throw him across the room, just because they were angry, beat and bruise him just because they felt like it. At least at the orphanage the worst he would have to deal with were the callous whispers of other children.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He’s back here again? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Of course he is. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Goro would breathe through his teeth and remind himself again and again, like a mantra, that it was temporary. He’d done this for four years already, he could do it for another seven. It’s not like they were wrong, anyway. No one wanted him. He could grit his teeth and clench his fists for a while longer as he counted down the days until his eighteenth birthday.</p><p> </p><p>It came as a surprise when Osaka-san called him into her office on that February afternoon.</p><p> </p><p>“Goro-chan, there’s someone here who wants to meet you,” the older woman crooned with a sickening cherry breath as she guided him toward a tall man. Goro did his best to put on a smile as they approached, but it fell away the moment his gaze was met with a hardened stare from darkened, shadowed eyes. Everything about the man screamed coldness, from his black suit to the squared shape of his broad shoulders and the tiny smirk that played at the corner of his mouth. “Goro, meet Shido Masayoshi.” </p><p> </p><p>Goro froze.</p><p> </p><p>“Shido-san has kindly donated a rather large sum of money to our institution, and is looking to give a home to one of the children here,” Osaka continued, voice full of plastic. “He asked for you specifically.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro took a breath, slowing the churn of magma that threatened to spill from his throat. He forced his hands to relax and his back to straighten, and he stepped toward Shido. “Akechi,” he offered the man his small hand, lifting his chin to meet his gaze. </p><p> </p><p>Shido simply pushed his hand away with a laugh. “Serious, are we?” He taunted smoothly, before turning to Osaka. “I will speak with the boy alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, Shido-san,” Osaka bent forward in a deep bow before rising and leaving them alone in her office.</p><p> </p><p>Once Osaka had shut the door behind her, Shido gestured for Goro to sit in one of the few seats in the small room. Goro sat, and Shido took a seat across from him, crossing his legs and casually examining the curve of his knuckles. Several beats of silence passed before the man finally spoke, voice far more rough than the one he had used with Osaka.</p><p> </p><p>“I will file the adoption papers, and you will come to live with me. Do not misunderstand - I expect you to take full care of yourself. You will be given private quarters at my residence until you turn fourteen, at which point you will move into your own apartment. You will receive a weekly stipend in cash, and you will have your freedom, but you will work for me.” The speech came out of the man’s mouth purposefully, a statement rather than an offer, as though it were already certain.</p><p> </p><p>“Why? Why me?” Goro managed after a few moments of stunned silence. The offer was certainly surprising. A roof over his head, food to fill his stomach, a bed to sleep in. A life, money, freedom. No more grabbing hands of foster parents. No more nights spent staring at grey cement ceilings wondering if his prison was made from the walls around him or just himself. The proposal was nearly textbook perfect.</p><p> </p><p>The ruse of perfection, at the hands of no other than <em> Shido Masayoshi </em> , his <em> father </em> , his flesh, his eternal curse. He could accept freedom, at the cost of chaining himself to the man that ruined his life. The man that made him. The man that killed his mother, collapsing under the weight of her own chest when the fragments of her heart became too small to fill it. Goro could accept, could cash in, could reap from the man who took <em> so much </em> from him. In doing so, however, he would have to accept what the figurehead probably saw as <em> help </em>. The child seethed, fury broiling in the pit of his stomach and ice coating the surface of his pale, freckled skin. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been watching you for a while now, Akechi. You’re smart. Resourceful,” Shido smiled, venom seeping from his toothy grin. “You will be useful to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the work?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll find out when you accept my offer.”</p><p> </p><p>“And if I refuse?” Goro met the man’s gaze, crimson staring down brown. Defiance smoldered in his lungs as he narrowed his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Akechi,” Shido leered. “You won’t refuse me.”</p><p> </p><p>An idea came to Goro.</p><p> </p><p>A sickening, nauseating, disturbing, wretched idea. It bubbled up from the acid in his heart and spitfire in his belly, toxic and festering. Goro would accept this tyrant’s filthy benevolence, swallow it deep. Feed on it. He would grow within it, earn his keep, and earn Shido’s disgusting, rotten <em> trust </em> . He would be a dutiful son, whether or not Shido considered their relationship in such a capacity. Under the Devil’s careful tutelage, Goro would thrive. And when the day finally came, when Goro was old enough, strong enough, then; then he would rise from within whatever kingdom he had built and spit it back in his face, full of blood and ire and irony. Goro would absolutely, fully, completely <em> ruin </em> him.</p><p> </p><p>Shido was right. Goro didn’t refuse.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Once the papers were signed, Goro was given ten minutes to collect his belongings. Not that he owned much - the young boy had all of a toothbrush, a stuffed bear, and the clothes on his back. He grabbed his things quickly, ignoring the overloud whispers of the other children, and stuffed them into a bag. He bid goodbye to no one as he passed through the front doors of the grey institution for what he knew was the last time.</p><p> </p><p>The years that followed were nothing Goro could have possibly expected. The moment he’d arrived at Shido’s residence - a large manor in one of the nicer neighbourhoods of Tokyo - Shido’s men forced him into a steady training regimen.</p><p> </p><p>They taught him to fight. They taught him the ins and outs of human anatomy - where to find the weakest points on the human body and how to exploit them. They taught him the quickest way to bring a target to their knees. How to kill in the cleanest, quietest, most efficient way.</p><p> </p><p>Goro studied in the manor, too, tutored by a private teacher (another one of Shido’s spineless goons, he was sure). He studied all the subjects taught in the Tokyo school system and then some - math, science, literature, economics, social studies. </p><p> </p><p>Latin. Coding. Toxicology. Etiquette. Cryptography. </p><p> </p><p>Not once during Goro’s studies or his physical training was it mentioned what he was preparing for. But he kept at it - kept throwing punches, taking tests, writing essays, fighting every last uphill battle with every breath he had for the small hope that, one day, he would come out on top.</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>On Goro’s fourteenth birthday, he was given an ultimatum.</p><p> </p><p>It was delivered on a note, callously slid under his bedroom door during the night. He woke to it, a hot iron brand on the new day:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> If you wish to earn the rest of your keep, you will perform this task to the fullest extent.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Goro swallowed as his nerves turned to ice. He forced his eyes to read, to absorb, the words that followed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Kill Isshiki Wakaba. Or else. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>____</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The night it happened, Goro buried his face into the pillow, squeezing the air from his chest in a silent, heaving scream. He thought of his mother, and her sorrow on those cold, lonely nights, comparatively few to the cold and lonely nights he had spent on his own since her death. Goro thought about the woman he killed. He thought about the weight of the knife as he pressed it to her throat, the slick, slippery, sickening slice of her flesh as he pushed it deeper. Her last gurgled breath as she drowned in her own blood. He thought about her daughter - her <em> daughter </em> - barely three years younger than him. He thought of the ragged, empty hole he had dug in that girl’s life. She would be like him now, passed around like the trash of the earth. He thought of the blood staining his apartment sink, the red streaks that would never quite rinse away when he scrubbed beneath his fingernails. </p><p> </p><p>Goro had known since he was seven years old. Some days he believed it, dragging it into his nightmares and never quite waking to wipe them from his eyes. Other days, more hopeful days, he pushed it to the back of his mind like the other voices that told him he wasn’t good enough. But now? Now there was no turning back. Goro knew what he was, what he had done, what he would <em> continue </em>to do. Now he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was no longer a question.</p><p> </p><p>He was alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Taa-daa! This is the prologue! I’m excited to see where this story goes. I’m not sure how many chapters there will be, but they will be a lot longer and more in-depth than this one - this was to set up the situation and give a closer look at the circumstances and choices that bring us to our Current Day Goro that we will meet next chapter.</p><p>I have played both Persona 5 and Persona 5 Royal, and these kids live in my head rent-free. I love what Atlus did with Royal’s 3rd semester, and I do think it is a gift to the world, but in both P5 and P5R, I firmly believe that Akechi deserved a better chance at redemption. I have a lot of thoughts about this (as I have spent a lot of time thinking about Goro instead of doing my actual real-person job), and yes I know he killed people and should take responsibility for that, but the system failed him. He was failed by the corrupt adults around him, just like our main PT cast, and I really feel for that. He was the one friend we couldn’t save, and maybe the friend that needed saving most.</p><p>Anyway, enough gushing about Akechi.</p><p>This is my VERY FIRST fanfiction. I am not a writer by trade (I’m actually an accountant, just with a huge Persona 5 obsession and a deep soft spot for Akechi) so if you have any comments about my writing that could help me improve, please let me know! I’m always striving to be a better writer so I can do these characters the justice they deserve.</p><p>Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope you enjoy the ride.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I'm just a gambler (holding aces in the Devil's eyes)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lets get us some *vigorous jazz hands* EXPOSITION</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Part I:</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Spring had gone and clipped your wings</b>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Goro stifled an exasperated groan as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He was reaching the end of his final lecture for the week, and his legs itched to propel him out of the class and as far away from the mindless chatter of his high school as possible. He resisted the urge to check his phone for whatever message awaited him. He expected nothing short of another task to pile on top of his homework, his detective work, and his already-overwhelming list of “requests” he’d received from his <em> father </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Something in Goro’s lungs contracted whenever he used that moniker for Shido. He supposed it was true, legally, as much as he hated it. Biologically, as well, if he allowed himself to sink to that deep, burning level of disgust for his own existence. Shido was by no means a <em> father </em> . Other kids - not that Goro was a kid, because he <em> wasn’t </em> - would have grown up playing catch with their fathers in the backyard. They would have watched sports together, and mimicked the flow of the games in their own time. They would have accepted, or perhaps rebelled against, a careful, guiding hand from someone who loved them and cared about their wellbeing. Shido gave him none of that - not that Goro had ever wanted it. Maybe, if he allowed himself to dwell on the matter for long enough, he could admit to having wanted it at one point. But not from Shido - not in a million years.</p><p> </p><p>While other children were given praise and a playful pat on the head, Akechi was given a hit list.</p><p> </p><p>Goro was quickly pulled back to reality as the teacher called his name. He shook his head quickly, clearing it of the remaining errant thoughts, and turned his attention to the man in front of him - Shinobu, his English teacher. The stout, older man glared down at him, an expectant smirk poised beneath his graying moustache.</p><p> </p><p>Goro smoothed his features into an innocent, questioning smile. “My apologies,” He quietly cleared his throat, softening his voice to match. “Could you please repeat the question, Shinobu-san?”</p><p> </p><p>“I had <em> asked </em>,” Shinobu sighed, the older man’s impatient fingers tapping along his crossed arms. “What was the original meaning of the English word ‘awful’?” Light snickering echoed from the back of the classroom.</p><p> </p><p>“It meant ‘impressive’,” Goro answered without delay, which silences the giggles of his peers. “It’s quite an easy question, actually. The word ‘awful’ is a combination of the two words ‘awe’ and ‘full’. Naturally, when those are compounded, they refer to a subject that is full of, or that which inspires, awe,” Goro allowed a hint of smugness to tint his response as he finishes, droning his explanation on longer than needed to fill as much remaining class time as he could.</p><p> </p><p>The school bell chimed, signaling the end of the period. Goro had packed his bags and slipped from his seat at the front of the class and out of the door before Shinobu had the opportunity to properly dismiss the class. </p><p> </p><p>Goro had never much liked school, and was often one of the first students to leave the premises once the final bell of the day had rung. In the three years he had been attending public school, it had not grown on him - although he could admit that it was superior to his previous “independent studies”. It was more <em> normal </em>, he supposed. The boy kept his grades in check for appearances, always ensuring that he ranked somewhere in the top five of his class. Most days, the charade worked in his favour, earning him some slack when his assignments were late, or if he was too beat and bruised to attend class the day after a particularly gruesome hit. He wasn’t asked those uncomfortable, personal questions like ‘where were you’, or ‘you’ve been late to every single class this semester; do you care to explain?’. The faculty trusted him - Akechi Goro, the honour student, the high school detective prodigy - to manage his own affairs. Away from prying eyes, Goro could be thankful for the absence of such irrelevant interruptions. Although, some days he thought it could be nice for someone to ask after him, but he pushed the desire aside consistently. Distractions, even ones of the imaginably pleasant variety, were foolish to indulge any further than a sleepy thought on a lazy Sunday morning.</p><p> </p><p>He allowed himself to glance at his messages only once he arrived at the train station.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Unknown Number [3:22 PM 09/04/20XX]: </em> </b>Kurusu Akira, by Monday, 11/04/20XX..</p><p> </p><p>Great, another request from Shido’s burner numbers. How thoughtful. Akechi groaned and ran a gloved hand through his hair. Two days? Really? The trash, waste-of-space excuse for a human being usually gave him a week to start and finish a hit. With only a name, it would take the detective likely three days to research the subject, nevermind to perform even the most basic canvassing and then <em> actually carry it out. </em> Even a week was tight for most deadlines, given the grisly, evasive nature of Shido's usual crowd. </p><p> </p><p>Who was this <em> Kurusu Akira </em>, and what made them so urgent?</p><p> </p><p>Akechi’s fingers typed out a response, pressed send, and turned off his phone before shoving it back in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>You [4:15 PM 09/04/20XX]: </em> </b>Consider it done.</p><p> </p><p>Akechi spent the rest of his evening, as well as many hours into the following morning, researching the mysterious person by the name of Kurusu Akira. He drafted a list, which he split into two sections: things he knew, and things he needed to find out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Known: </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>Kurusu is 16 years old.</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Kurusu was arrested late last fall for an assault charge in his hometown.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Kurusu is in Tokyo to serve a year-long probation under the care of Sakura Sojiro.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Kurusu is a second-year, attending Shujin Academy.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Sakura Sojiro resides in Yongen Jaya.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Kurusu is an only child.</li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <em> To find out: </em>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em>Where is Sakura Sojiro’s residence?</em></li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Where would Kurusu be on a Sunday?</li>
</ul><p> </p><p> </p><p>Most of the information that formed his list, he was able to gather from the database in his local precinct - being a detective, and a respected one at that, did come with it’s perks. Namely, unquestioned access to the police database. The receptionist had greeted him with her usual, indifferent expression and barely-there nod as he had entered the building earlier that evening. Most of the fellow workers had gone home for the night, leaving Akechi with ample privacy to perform a thorough investigation into his new target. In addition to the sparse information that decorated his list, he was also able to find a decent-quality mugshot of the teen.</p><p> </p><p>The boy was tall, maybe even as tall as Akechi himself, and appeared thin. A twig, a gangling teenager, disproportionate in height to his own weight. He would be easy to take down - easy to subdue and subsequently finish off in whichever way Akechi saw fit. Kurusu was pale in his picture, which featured red, puffy eyes and tear streaks drawn down to the boy’s chin. His dark, curly hair had been messed, blown around, moved hilariously out of place, and he sported a darkening bruise on his left cheek. All in all, the boy was a perfect picture of a weak, sniveling wreck.</p><p> </p><p>That is, except for his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Piercing, gunmetal determination stared back at Akechi, boring into him from the page on his kitchen table. Narrowed eyelids did nothing to hide the burning anger that threatened to spill between his long lashes. </p><p> </p><p>Akechi closed the folder, and resigned himself to his short page of notes for the night.</p><p> </p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>Akechi liked knives. They were simple, small, and quiet, but offered dexterity in their range of versatile uses. They were easy to carry undetected, easy to use without drawing the attention of crowds. As much as Akechi had access to guns and high-quality silencers from Shido, there was always the risk that something could go wrong. Backfire. <em> Too loud, </em> he always thought to himself. The silencer could come loose, and instead of quietly downing a silhouette in a back alley and slipping away, he would instead be placing a spotlight and target on his own back. <em> No, thank you. </em></p><p> </p><p>No, Akechi greatly preferred knives. </p><p> </p><p>Knives were sleek, and they obeyed the flick of his wrist, carving flesh like pen on paper. They offered a personal touch, requiring Akechi to obtain a certain proximity to his victims. They required more effort than a pistol, more thought and care to his actions and approach. Of course, this came with the certain mess of the hunt. The sick, sticky spray of running red iron, dripping from his stab or slice, the stain left on his gloves and shirt and skin. The carve of the blade - <em> his </em> blade - into thick flesh, catching on bone and tearing through muscle, sinew and tendons alike. The hot spray of lifeblood offered him a slimy trophy, yes, but it also served as a reminder of what he’d done. What he <em> has </em> done, what he has been <em> doing </em> , and what he <em> will </em> do. A grim reminder of the monster he had chosen to become.</p><p> </p><p>After a short night’s rest - always too short, in Akechi’s opinion - he readied himself for the day. A dark pair of jeans, paired with a casual black hoodie would allow him to make his rounds while going relatively unnoticed. Most passerbys would assume he was just another, no-good highschooler goofing off instead of studying like an upstanding student should. He packed himself a black mask <em> (just in case) </em> , as well as a small knife <em> (also just in case) </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The train ride to Yongen-Jaya wasn’t terribly long, as it turned out. Akechi wasn’t one to frequent the smaller neighbourhood, as it sat somewhat out of the way with reference to his apartment, school, and other daily chores. The cropping of smaller houses was quaint, eliciting the feeling of a hidden treasure in the throes of the chaotic, urban expanse that was the greater Tokyo area. The Sunday early-morning crowd was sparse, granting him the space and anonymity to truly breathe for the first time that week.</p><p> </p><p>It was a simple matter for Akechi to locate the Sakura residence - he had written down the address on a slip of paper which he held crumpled in his pocket. The building itself was somber, backed away from the small street and sheltered behind a wall and gate. The nameplate, reading the Sakura name, rendered it unmistakeable. With curtains closed behind windows and lights off under the dawn light, it was clear that either the occupants were still sleeping, or they had left for the day.</p><p> </p><p>Not that it really mattered what they were doing. It was not as though he could just walk up to Sakura-san, plaster on his sickening smile and say; “<em> Good morning, I’m here to murder the delinquent in your care. Would you be so kind as to provide me with his current whereabouts? </em>” </p><p> </p><p>Akechi took to wandering the nearby streets for the duration of the morning. Much to his surprise, he discovered that the subdivision sported a small grocer, a set of batting cages, and even a theatre. Although the installations were a tad grungy, the area struck him as charming and… something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something like the soft feeling of familiarity pulsing across his skin; a place seen twice but visited never, with an eerie sensation of having forgotten something important blanketed on top.</p><p> </p><p>It would have been easy to grow bored of watching, waiting, listening, watching some more, if he were not Akechi Goro. Perhaps, if Goro was weak enough to admit it to himself, he would say he <em> had </em> become somewhat disinterested in the situation. But Goro - no, <em> Akechi </em>- was nothing if not stubborn and hopelessly single-minded. The sun rose in the sky as he paced the streets, slow enough to not draw the attention of those who passed by him as he made his rounds, but quickly enough to not be seen as loitering.</p><p> </p><p>It was on his twenty-seventh circle of the neighbourhood that he finally caught some luck. Akechi had passed the second-hand shop - again - and turned right onto a narrow backstreet - <em> again </em> - when he paused.</p><p> </p><p>“Closed, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not like Sakura-san to leave the shop empty on a Sunday like this.”</p><p> </p><p>An elderly man and woman stood hunched beneath a small red overhang. The man crossed his arms, jutting out a hip in a way that could not possibly be comfortable for someone of his… er, life experience and possession of wrinkles.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sakura-san? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose he must have <em> better </em> things to do than serve his regulars.” Stark indignation furrowed the man’s heavy brow.</p><p> </p><p>“Surely he has his reasons.” The woman placed a gentle hand on the man’s arm, moving to guide him away from the entrance of the shop.</p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me-” Akechi started toward the older couple, straightening his shoulders and fixing his best attempt at a disarming smile upon his lips. “Perchance, did I hear you mention Sakura-san?</p><p> </p><p>“Why, yes.” The woman turned to him with a honeyed smile. “He runs this little shop.”</p><p> </p><p>“He does when he’s not neglecting his customers,” the man grumbled, hobbling away from the uncomfortable exchange.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop that now.” The woman scolded her companion with a light swat. Akechi peered at the door. A splintered brown thing with many rectangle windows, revealing an unlit interior. A sign - well, a piece of scrap paper, really - was taped to the door, indicating that the shop would open at two in the afternoon and that the shopkeeper apologized for the absence.</p><p> </p><p>“Would this Sakura-san you speak of also happen to be… Sakura <em> Sojiro </em>?” The brunet pressed.</p><p> </p><p>Another growl erupted from the older man. “What about him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh I-" Akechi allowed his voice to falter in feigned embarrassment as he brought a gloved hand up to cover his mouth. "I’ve heard he makes an excellent cup of coffee. I merely wish to confirm that this <em> is </em>, in fact, his establishment.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yes, dear, you’ve found the right place.” The woman hummed, shooting the man a daggered glance. “Unfortunately, it seems you’ll have to come around another time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can see that.” Akechi nodded, pressing his lips into what he hoped was a pleasant smile. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>He backed away from the two, relaxed in his pace, and continued his round of the winding pathways that scratched across the tiny neighbourhood. When his path returned him to the quiet cafe - <em> Leblanc, hm </em> - the human oddities had since vacated the space. According to his phone, it was almost one in the afternoon. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to wait the hour and see who it was that returned. Perhaps it would give him better insight into the whereabouts of his target. He might even find himself with a hot coffee as a trophy of the future exchange.</p><p> </p><p>Akechi rounded the corner into a small laundromat that sat across the street from the cafe. He tucked himself into the shadows, surrendering to the passage of time as he awaited Sakura’s arrival.</p><p> </p><p>Akechi waited.</p><p> </p><p>And waited.</p><p> </p><p>And <em> waited </em>.</p><p> </p><p>He steadied himself - pushed down the bubbling impatience in his chest - by scanning the area. If he had nothing else to do, he could at the very least assess his surroundings. It could prove useful to him later, in case he was required to take action at a moment’s notice. He made mental note of the crevices in the pavement, which ones could cause his opponent to stumble and which were purely a visual inconvenience. He catalogued the number of people that passed as the high sun began to sink lower and lower in the sky, noting the influx as the clouds turned a mottled shade of gold and orange. Even as the burning glow of dusk cast the buildings in a monotonous tone of grey melancholy and the streets grew quiet once more, he counted the spaces between garbage bins, mailboxes, and old boxes that could provide cover in a pinch.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What a pitiful waste of time. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It was well past dark by the time two figures approached the door of LeBlanc, and his patience had long since worn thin. Akechi drew up his hood, tightening the strings slightly to hide his face, and donned his mask before pressing himself low against the half-wall of the laundromat. Only his garnet eyes peered out from his disguise, watching from the safety of the dark corner where he crouched.</p><p> </p><p>“No point in opening up this late.” A gruff sigh echoed down the alley. “Not tonight, anyway.” </p><p> </p><p>The door chimed as it was pushed open, tiny bells singing into the night. The smaller of the two silhouettes - tall, but lanky - stepped inside the cafe and flicked the light switch. Akechi flinched as light flooded the narrow street, casting long shadows against the pavement. The faces of the two illuminated, drawing his attention to the hunched, middle-aged man with greying hair and a pointed goatee, and a teenager. </p><p> </p><p>Messy, slightly-too-long raven hair. A sharp jawline, swallowed by the frames of a large pair of glasses. Hunched shoulders, curling his body in upon itself, as though he wished to take up as little space as possible; wished to make himself appear less threatening. Hands stuffed into the pockets of plaid red-and-black uniform slacks - a sign of insecurity. The boy lacked confidence; lacked strength of character. Akechi stifled a dry laugh.</p><p> </p><p>A pointed gaze, gleaming silver under dull lamplight.</p><p> </p><p>That was <em> him </em> . Akechi was sure of it. <em> That </em> was the boy in the mugshot, with the puffy, tearstained face and fiery eyes. He looked different, to be sure, but the determination in his gaze remained the same. There could be no doubt about it: this was his target.</p><p> </p><p>The other voice - <em> Kurusu’s voice </em> - one smooth and surprisingly deep, spoke up, but not loud enough for Akechi to make out his words. The larger one - he presumed this must be Sakura himself - passed something to the boy before stepping back out into the street. </p><p> </p><p>“Bathhouse is across the street if you feel like washing up.” Sakura grumbled. “I don’t care what you do so long as you stay out of trouble. And don’t forget - you have school in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>The teen responded with a nod and a shallow bow. Sakura shook his head and left. Kurusu closed the door, leaving himself alone in the cafe.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Well. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This was certainly interesting. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The boy, Kurusu, the delinquent, had been left to his own devices in a poorly secured building, hidden in a back alley of a dingy, unpopulated area. Surely the building had a back entrance, if not a hidden window or two. Akechi could see from his stakeout that the building itself sported a set of rickety windows on the second level. Lights illuminated the glass on the second floor, shifting the shadows of the alley with the movement of its single inhabitant. As quickly as the lights had turned on, they shut off, leaving his sight to adjust back to moderate darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Akechi shifted his weight between the balls of his feet, feeling for the knife in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>The bells of Leblanc’s door chimed again, a melody of haunting cries to the night. Footsteps, light on the pavement, approached.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> An opening.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>As Kurusu rounded the corner onto the narrow passage that preceded the bathhouse, Akechi lunged forward. One arm wrapped itself around the raven, trapping him in a tight hold, while the opposite hand clapped itself over the boy’s mouth to keep him from screaming. He dragged him backward into the cover of the laundromat, flipping the knife open and pressing it against Kurusu’s throat.</p><p>
  
</p><p>In the matter of a moment, Akechi’s back slammed against the cold metal of the washers behind him, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him sliding to the ground with a thud. His ears rang from the impact, but not enough for him to miss the scraping sound of his blade being kicked beneath the machines opposite him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Akechi had barely managed to push himself back to his feet before Kurusu was upon him with a quick strike aimed at the jaw. The brunet ducked, dodging the punch and countering with his own to the stomach. The raven doubled over, clutching himself with a wheeze as Akechi grabbed a fistful of his hair and threw him to the ground. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Since he no longer had his knife, he would have to get… <em> creative </em>.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The boy scrambled backwards - <em>a rookie move</em> - effectively backing himself into the secluded corner of the laundromat and placing his predator between him and the only exit. Akechi took step after step forward, studying the raven.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Their gazes met, and Kurusu smirked.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Akechi drove a swift kick into the boy’s side. Or, rather, he meant to. A hand grabbed his ankle, with a grip tight enough to be bruising, twisting it so that his knee gave way beneath him and he stumbled. With a kick of his own, the raven secured the blow by knocking Akechi's feet backward. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Splitting pain erupted from his elbow as it crashed into the cement.</p><p>
  
</p><p>And then Kurusu was upright again, walking away from the scene like nothing had happened. He slipped into the bathhouse, but not without stopping first to throw a glance back to the brunet, curled as he was on the laundromat floor.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The raven even had the audacity to wink at him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was hard to write and I don’t really know why???? I think it was because it was missing the drama. But, I can sacrifice some drama for the sake of exposition. We will get there… I just need a bit of patience (with myself LOL). I am still writing this fic (as in, I have chapters planned out with bullet points, but nothing actually written yet) so while I can’t promise super regular/frequent updates or anything, I’ll do my best to get the chapters churned out as fast as I can between my pre-existing commitments to work, life, and existential screaming.</p><p>But oh man do I ever have some plans for this. MUAHAHAHA</p><p>Anyways! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know your thoughts in the comments!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The heat of a thousand breaths upon my neck (the gaze of thousand eyes burning holes into my back)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again!! Sorry this took me so long to get out - it’s been a busy couple of weeks with the emotional intensity of a sedentary blob of goo. Don't ask me what that means, for I do not know. BUT IT’S DONE AND ITS HERE NOW!! I hope you enjoy! Now we finally get into some of the FUN STUFF</p><p>(To answer the question no one asked:</p><p>Yes all my chapter titles are going to be song lyrics.)<br/> </p><p>  <b><br/>TW for blood, self-harm and suicidal thoughts.<br/></b></p><p>This chapter is pretty dark so if you are not comfortable reading that, I have bracketed the stuff relating to the TW above with double lines. Skip ahead if you don't want to read it, it shouldn't impact your understanding of the plot if you don't want to read it. Stay safe please &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Goro barely made it inside his apartment before the red sea in his mind split open.</p><p> </p><p>He’d fucked up.</p><p> </p><p>He’d fucked up, and his target got away.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shido isn't going to like this. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The brunet slammed the door shut behind him as he passed the threshold into his small apartment, hinges screaming rusty cries of complaint. The splintered paint of the door frame cracked under the impact, scattering flakes of debris to the floor. Stepping into the narrow hallway and oppressive air that marked the entrance to his residence, he reached up to the mask that still covered most of his face. The ties rubbed abrasively against the backs of his ears, snapping painfully as he tore the fabric away. He ripped the material - in half, quarters, eighths - before balling the scraps in his fist and launching them across the room.</p><p> </p><p>Next, he toed off his shoes - carefully, slowly. Goro reached to the floor, hooking his fingers under the tongues of the loafers before flinging them one at a time against the wall. They thudded against the surface, muddy soles skidding dark streaks across a white canvas.</p><p> </p><p>It was supposed to have been <em> simple.  </em></p><p> </p><p>It was supposed to have been <em> quick </em>. </p><p> </p><p><em> Easy</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, he had to go and <em> fuck it up </em> , like he’d fucked everything else up in his pitiful excuse of a life. He was senseless, useless; a painfully sorry existence, a scar on the human population; he’d never be worth anything, fuck- He misjudged his opponent; some <em> stupid, scrawny teen </em> that should have been <em> nothing </em>to wipe out and discard like the trash he was. But instead of executing him the right way, Akechi had been careless. Overconfident. Arrogant. </p><p> </p><p>Stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Goro’s footsteps brought him into his small kitchen without his permission, and he watched as his hands reached up to open a set of cupboards on their own. The doors creaked open under his harsh pull, hinges straining, and he moved to the next set, ripping them open as well.</p><p> </p><p>There would be no body found tonight. There was no body to <em> find. </em></p><p> </p><p>Maybe, if Goro was lucky enough, there would be no police report of an attempted attack on a kid in the small neighborhood. Maybe that asshole Kurusu would keep his mouth shut, bide his time until the opportune moment to report such a heinous deed by Tokyo’s beloved detective prince. Maybe if Goro was lucky, Kurusu would simply <em> forget </em>about the attempt on his life, and move on with his days.</p><p> </p><p>Goro had never been lucky, not once in his life.</p><p> </p><p>Shido would surely know about this by morning. </p><p> </p><p>Goro was <em> fucked.</em></p><p> </p><hr/>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A primal, agonized shriek ripped itself from his lungs as his arms swept the lengths of the kitchen shelves, sending plates, cups, bowls crashing down. China and glass alike shattered at his feet, exploding into pieces of all sizes and covering the floor. He did not bother to avoid them - not like it would have been possible, anyway - as he made his way across the room to the first set of drawers.</p><p>The drawers came flying off their settings as easily as the cupboards had flown open. Without resistance, without hesitation. A quick tug and twist of his shoulders saw each drawer, complete with its contents, colliding against the opposite counter. Metal utensils clattered to the ground, echoing like raindrops off a thin aluminium roof. The sound fills his ears, reverberating off the inside of his skull with a crescendo he mirrored in his own rage-filled cry.</p><p>Pang. </p><p>Pang. </p><p>Pang.</p><p>His eyes scanned the rest of the room, feverish and restless, locking onto one of his textbooks that he’d left on the counter. Three steps forward-</p><p>Crunch. </p><p>Crunch. </p><p>Crunch.</p><p>-and he had the hardcover in his hands. The words ‘Criminal Justice’ scrawled over the cover. What was this garbage worth to him? To <em> anyone </em>?</p><p>
  <em> Nothing, I say. </em>
</p><p>Did any of it still matter? It couldn’t possibly, could it? He had tried so hard to get things right. </p><p>He had tried <em> so hard </em>.</p><p>He gripped the cover in his hands, tearing the front from the body of work. And each page after, torn from the spine and left to float, decapitated, to the earth below him. Each page, flayed from the corpse of what it once was, part of a whole, irreparably cut away. Flesh and sinews: paper and strings.</p><p>Pages dampened as heat crept onto Goro's face, searing at the corners of his eyes and blurring his vision.</p><p>He would not cry.</p><p><b>He</b> <b>would </b><b><em>not.</em></b></p><p>He tossed the corpse of his text aside, pressing his back into the cool metal of his fridge door, and slid to the floor. Debris crunched beneath his weight. The pieces dug into him, stinging like the nip of a lover’s teeth against his skin. His fingers trailed the edge of the tile, brushing against the edge of a clear triangle. </p><p>He picked it up, wrapping his fingers around the jagged edges.</p><p>None of it would matter. Nothing he’s ever done - ever <em> would do </em>- would matter once Shido got word of his failure. The man would take everything, send him out to the streets, or worse, send his goons to collect him and dispose of his body once they’d destroyed it with their sick, twisted version of fun.</p><p>His death would not be quick, and it would most certainly not be painless.</p><p>But, at least it would be over. <em> He </em>would be over.</p><p>Goro could take one final beating, knowing it would be the last. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And perhaps- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -somewhere deep down- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> -he looked forward to it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His hand twitched, tightening around the shard of glass until it cut into the meat of his palm. He continued to squeeze, clenching around the sting, tighter, tighter, <em> tighter </em>- His chest shook, shallow breaths sputtering out his frustration, anger, defiance into sharp bursts of laughter.</p><p>The stench of flesh and iron hit his nostrils, and Goro’s insides flipped.</p><p>He could get up - <em> should </em>get up - allow himself the relief of emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. But that would be too easy, too satisfying. His grip loosened, glass dislodging itself from his skin and clattering to the ground at his side. </p><p>Drip. </p><p>Drip.</p><p>Drip.</p><p>His hand followed the glass to the floor, slicked with his own sluggish flow. He trailed his finger, languid and slow, through the growing puddle; spreading it, painting the ground with the stain of his life, every moment of it red, red, <em> red- </em></p><p>He had been such a fool.</p><p>His fingers sought the glass shard again - <em> a </em> glass shard, <em> any </em> glass shard - somehow finding purchase on the slippery smooth surface. He brought it to his wrist, pressing into the blue lines weaving across his skin. He should just end things now, on his own terms, before Shido could take action. It would be simple, it would be <em> easy </em>.</p><p>His eyes burned and his head hurt and everything ached, <em> everything ached- </em></p><p><em> Fuck. </em> </p><p>Goro screamed again, the sound escaping his throat in a broken wail. He clutched at the glass, at his wrist, dragging the broken edge down the length of his arm. Blood welled in the cut as his skin split apart, running off and pooling in the crook of his elbow. </p><p>Again, pressing harder this time.</p><p>
  <em> Again, damn it! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Damn it all! </em>
</p><p>Tears streamed from his eyes, his laughter filling the air as he threw the glass across the room.</p><p><em> Worthless garbage, you think you deserve mercy now? You think you deserve </em> peace <em> , of all things? </em></p><p>
  <em> Scum like you could never have that. </em>
</p><p>No, he wouldn’t end it here. He would not allow himself to become Shido’s martyr - the poor politician’s son who offed himself when no one was looking. He could only imagine, now, the sympathy it would elicit for the masses. No one would ever see Shido for the crooked, sickening villain that he was. Only Goro, and the truth would perish alongside his body and mind.</p><p>
  <em> Stick to the fucking plan, you idiot. You didn’t do this- this shit- just to rot on your kitchen floor until the stench of your decay is noticed by your neighbours. </em>
</p><p>Goro clutched himself around his middle, sliding further down, down, <em> down, </em> until his side met with the floor. His arms pressed into his face, smearing blood across his shirt and skin, and he submitted to the uncontrollable shaking that bubbled out of his core.</p><p>Once the vibrations - half-sobs, half-hiccups - in his chest finally ceased, Goro peeled himself from the tile. </p><p>His feet ached as he stepped gingerly toward the bathroom, sharp punches where pieces of glass had embedded themselves into his soles and arches. His arm, his wrist, his hand - they stung as movement welcomed fresh oxygen to the peeling edges of his flesh. </p><p>Whatever goal he chased when carving lines into himself - whatever mechanism he used to manifest his suffocating pain in lines across his body - he had accomplished it.</p><p> </p><hr/>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After properly cleaning and bandaging his wounds, Goro swept the debris from the floor into a dustpan and transferred it to the trash. Next, he sprayed the floor with a mix of bleach and water and wiped it down with an old towel. The rest - wayward utensils still littering the kitchen - could be dealt with another day. He had no plates to eat off of now as they were shattered and tossed away, and he couldn’t cook without risking setting himself on fire, so he wouldn’t need them anytime soon.</p><p> </p><p>When Goro had finally finished tidying the remnants of his breakdown, the clock read half-past three in the morning. The brunet settled himself under his bed sheets to the best of his ability, squeezing his eyes shut. He breathed deep - slow, steady sucking of air in to fill his lungs, then a laboured push to send it out his nose. Again, and again, like he’d taught himself on dark nights alone so long ago. It hurt. His chest screamed with the burning desire to heave quick bursts in time with the anxious rhythm of his pulse, but he suffocated the urge in favour of his practiced routine. </p><p> </p><p>Goro continued as the sun crept upward, revealing itself along the horizon with golden rays that set fire to his windows. His limbs ached with fatigue, heavy enough to glue him to the bed even as his morning alarm sounded. He silenced the grating noise, setting his phone back down to finish charging, and tucked his face beneath his blanket. </p><p> </p><p>If Shido’s men were coming for him, he might as well save himself the embarrassment of being murdered in public. School could wait another day.</p><p> </p><p>Seconds, minutes, hours ticked by as Goro hid himself in the confines of his bed. Hunger picked at the lining of his stomach, growing in intensity as time continued to pass. Just another signal from his body that he would continue to ignore. There was nothing to eat in this stupid place, anyway, and going out for food would require showering off the stench of sweat and blood that clung to his skin and hair like a perfume. As gross as he currently felt, he could not bring himself to rise from his position.</p><p> </p><p>Stiffness set into his limbs as afternoon light ran orange. Buzzing crawled beneath his skin, flicking nervous energy to the tips of his fingers and toes in tiny spasms.</p><p> </p><p>Surely, <em> surely</em>, the bastard knew by now. Surely he knew what Akechi Goro failed to do.</p><p> </p><p>By the time evening had rolled around again, his mind was numb. No one had messaged him. No one had called. No one had knocked on his door. No report, no headline. There would have been a headline. There would have been a headline, right? <em> Right? </em>And yet Goro was surrounded by nothing but silence.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> So they’re playing this out the long way, huh? Driving me to cower in fear before they come to kill me? Clever. Cruel. It’s a very Shido-esque trick to- </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His phone rang. </p><p> </p><p>Goro blanched.</p><p> </p><p>He scrambled forward to grab the device off the nightstand, staring at the screen for a moment before accepting the call with trembling hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Good evening, sir.” He held back a gag as he crooned the honorific into the receiver.</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t finish the job.” Shido’s growl echoed in Akechi’s ears; his heartbeat quickening in response to the rough statement.</p><p> </p><p>“I ran into some… er, complications.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ha. Who knew some scrawny teen would be the one to evade you. You must be losing your touch.” Akechi fought to keep his breathing steady as Shido continued to degrade him on the other end of the line. “Are you really that pathetic?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that, sir, I just need more time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Time such as the sort you wasted today?”</p><p> </p><p>Akechi froze.</p><p> </p><p>“I was informed that you missed your classes today.” Shido broke through the brunet’s silence, malice edging into the corners of his timbre. “Don’t think you can slip my sources by hiding yourself away in that little apartment. Remember that your living situation is a privilege, and it can be taken away just like any other.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir.” Akechi swallowed. Hard.</p><p> </p><p>“I trust it will not happen again.”</p><p> </p><p>“It will not, sir.” He managed, squeezing the words out through his tightening throat.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” The man concluded. “I’m feeling generous today. I won’t put a deadline on this boy. Take care of him before the end of the summer, however you see fit. I doubt he will cause any further problems - just a loose end I’d like to get rid of.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“The end of the summer?” Akechi couldn’t help but stammer. “That’s-”</p><p> </p><p>“Nearly five months. Yes, I know. You should thank me properly, Akechi.” Shido’s smirk was audible in his tinny, mechanical laugh - he didn’t need to see it to know what his father’s cruel amusement looked like. Nevertheless, relief flooded his veins, sending a sweet signal to calm his feverish heart.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, sir.” It disgusted Akechi to his core that he actually meant the filthy words that escaped his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>“You will be required to pursue other, additional targets during this timeframe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do not take my generosity for granted. You will not receive it again.” Shido ended the call with a click, leaving him no time to respond. </p><p> </p><p>That… that could have been worse.</p><p> </p><p>Finally able to breathe, the brunet dragged himself off to the bathroom. He wet his toothbrush, using it to scrub away the sickening flavour that every conversation with Shido seemed to leave in his mouth. That he was even standing, rather than retching over the toilet, was a surprise in itself. Having to pander to Shido and his ego nearly always sent his head reeling and his stomach ablaze. Goro hated that man.</p><p> </p><p>Goro hated that man <em> so much.</em></p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t matter in the end, though. Not once Goro achieved his ultimate goal. </p><p> </p><p>His hatred would mean nothing once the bastard had been sentenced to eternity in his own grave.</p><p> </p><p>_____</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>With his best, most pleasant smile, Goro made his way back to the narrow streets of Yongen-Jaya the following afternoon. </p><p> </p><p>Being back in the neighbourhood did not please him - the streets and shops eerily reminiscent of the waking nightmare which haunted him from two nights ago - but he forced himself to return regardless. Like falling off a bike: the sooner you get back up and try again, the easier it is to overcome the association with failure. Or at least, that’s what Goro repeated in his mind, again and again and again, as he wound his way through the small streets before finally reaching the entrance to Leblanc.</p><p> </p><p>Why did he even bother to come back to this place? Did he suddenly develop the urge to rub his hilarious defeat back into his own eyes, salt into a wound? While Goro had time to reevaluate the situation, he had also come to the unsavoury conclusion that he should get to know Kurusu. Speak to him, learn about him. Perhaps, then, Goro would come to understand why and how he had been so sorely bested.</p><p> </p><p>The innocent tinkle of bells chimed as he pushed the door open and stepped into the shelter of the café. He was met with the pleasant scent of coffee and curry, spices and cedar. The café itself was empty, with the exception of himself and the owner, and he took a seat at the edge of the bar.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome,” Sakura grunted without looking up to meet his eye. “What would you like?”</p><p> </p><p>Goro hummed thoughtfully. “What is your recommendation?”</p><p> </p><p>“House blend.” The man answered, turning to grab a container from the tall shelves lining the back wall. “I’ll have it for you in a moment.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro used the time it took to prepare his coffee to open his attaché case and spread his schoolwork out in front of him. If he was required to wait for Kurusu to appear, he might as well occupy himself with something useful. Hence, he had amassed as many notes and assignment sheets as he could find, packed them into his briefcase, and carted them along with him.</p><p> </p><p>Time passed quickly as the detective filled page after page with schoolwork, drawing out essays to present their arguments as better-founded than they actually were. Some days, Goro doubted that his teachers even read the garbage he handed in, suspecting instead that they took note of his name and assigned an automatic A+ to the work. If so, actually completing the work was just a waste of Goro’s time, but he made sure to at least complete what he could to the best of his ability on the off-chance that someone did actually read it.</p><p> </p><p>Sakura ignored his presence for the most part, refilling his coffee and taking the cash that Goro produced. It was a mostly silent exchange, guided by raised eyebrows and quick nods, as neither seemed intent to disturb the serene air born from the lack of conversation. Other customers came and went, some stayed for a few minutes to chat with the owner - not that the man appeared to be one for conversation. Any and all opportunities to voice an opinion were met with ambivalence or disinterest, which amused Goro to a great extent. Either Sakura truly did not wish to interact with his patrons, or he lived a sorrowfully boring life. Goro suspected, if either, the former option was the more correct of the two.</p><p> </p><p>The bell of LeBlanc’s door chimed once again as sunset greeted the sky in a warm embrace. Out of the corner of his eye, Goro watched as Sakura lifted his head to greet the newcomer, only for his expression to quickly sour.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re late.” Sakura grumbled from behind the counter. “You’d better not be getting yourself into trouble.” Goro watched as the raven, now hunched in Leblanc's entrance, flinched.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no... um... trouble. I was just meeting with some of the other teachers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Well, that’s fine then.” Sakura paused, bringing his fingers to his chin in a moment of quiet consideration, before lacing his voice with a sharpened edge. “Just don’t make a habit of it - or if you do, give me a warning first. I can’t have you wandering the streets at all times of day.”</p><p> </p><p>Uncomfortable silence overtook the pleasant atmosphere of the little café. Goro raised his cup to his lips, about to sip from his third cup of coffee, when Sakura let out another gruff sigh. The café owner seemed to be overflowing with those. “I’m going home. Lock up, would you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Y-yes, boss.” Kurusu’s eyes widened and he nodded in response. </p><p> </p><p>Goro rose from his seat and began to gather his things. This was clearly his cue to leave - it appeared that his efforts to interact with the raven-haired boy were a waste of time.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Yet again. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Before he could finish packing and vacate his seat, Sakura shook his head and waved for Goro to sit. “You can stay and finish your coffee, kid.” The older man commanded. “Akira - let him out when he’s done, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>The raven simply nodded, offering a small bow as the owner donned his outerwear and left the café.</p><p> </p><p>Goro stilled, continuing to sip on his coffee as the raven settled himself in the far booth. His papers remained spread out across the counter, scribbled notebooks acting as an implicit sign reading ‘do not disturb’. </p><p> </p><p>Behind him, the other boy sighed. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, it’s fine.” Goro waved away the notion with a gloved hand, stifling a wince as the leather pulled at his skin. “I didn’t mind. I suppose I just didn’t mean to intrude on your… um… family matters.”</p><p> </p><p>The raven let out a dry chuckle. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I were you. He’s not family.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see.” Goro murmured, unsure of how to proceed. Conversation protocol would normally require that he respond with something insightful, or perhaps even reassuring. Kurusu’s comment came across as bitter, although subdued - was he holding something back? If so - and they <em> were </em> strangers to each other, after all, so it was not unexpected that the other would not wear himself upon his sleeve - Goro should do the same himself. </p><p> </p><p>Something, though, compelled the detective to continue speaking. He wasn’t sure whether it was the slump of Kurusu’s shoulders, the  point of his glare - fixed as it was on the floor - or perhaps the stark contrast of Sakura’s interactions between his charge and his customer. Nonetheless, Goro failed to bite his tongue before the words fell from it: “I should have guessed. Sakura-san didn’t exactly seem pleased to see you.” The raven grimaced, just barely noticeable before morphing his features back to careful neutrality.</p><p> </p><p>“Him and everyone else in this city,” the raven grumbled under his breath, before releasing a deep sigh. Goro was quite certain that the words weren’t intended for his own ears, but he caught them nonetheless. “He means well,” the raven continued, “I just… I don’t think he knows what to do with me.”</p><p> </p><p>When Goro next glanced upward, he found Kurusu standing beside him. “I seriously don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” The raven twirled a piece of hair around his fingers before casually extending a hand to Goro. “My name’s Kurusu Akira.”</p><p> </p><p>“Akechi Goro.” The brunet accepted the handshake, forcing his hand and arm to relax despite the sharp spark of electricity that climbed his limb. He thanked himself, internally, that he’d kept his gloves on while he’d worked. He forced his gaze to flit down to the round button on the boy’s lapel. “You’re a student at Shujin?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Kurusu withdrew his hand, bringing it to the back of his neck as he looked away. “I just transferred there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you new to Tokyo?” Goro continued, feigning keen interest. Of course, he already knew the answer to his question, but explored the motions of inquiry anyway. Kurusu had no idea of Goro’s past research into his case, and Goro intended to keep it that way. The boy grew quiet, turning away sheepishly. </p><p> </p><p><em> Oh no, was that too much? </em>He silently cursed himself and his despairing social skills. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh - I, uh, my apologies,” Goro interjected in a quick attempt to recover from his bluster. “I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer that, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s alright. You guessed right, anyway.” the raven chuckled, pulling up the seat beside Goro at the counter. “I came to Tokyo this past Saturday. Used to live in a small town in the country.”</p><p> </p><p>“City life must be quite a shock to you, in that case.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ha! You can say that again,” Kurusu chuckled. “Shibuya crossing was like something out of a fever dream.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro stifled a snort at that, doing his best to cover it with a somewhat-normal giggle. Or, as close to one as he could manage. “It certainly can be quite overwhelming. I’m sure you will grow accustomed to it after some time.”</p><p> </p><p>“With <em> that </em>many people?” The boy scoffed. “I doubt it.” </p><p> </p><p>“You’d be surprised what a person can adjust to.” Goro’s words spilled from his lips, surprising even himself with the venom they held. Kurusu responded with only a soft hum of acknowledgement and fell silent as Goro finished the rest of his coffee.</p><p> </p><p>Long moments passed, Kurusu busying himself with god-knows-what behind the counter, leaving Goro to pass his pencil over his homework in silence and pretend to sip at liquid that wasn’t there. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, enough was enough, and Goro cut his losses for the evening.</p><p> </p><p>“It was a pleasure to meet you, Kurusu-kun.” The brunet stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothing, and offered a small bow to the other boy. “Thank you for your company, but I’d best be going now.” The raven nodded, watching silently as Goro shrugged his jacket over his shoulders and exited the café. </p><p> </p><p>Goro took a few steps down the narrow street before glancing back through the window of the still-lit cafe. Kurusu had returned to his seat at the counter, this time with his forehead dropped onto crossed arms.</p><p> </p><p>Goro almost missed the tremors rocking through the boy as his shoulders rose and fell.</p><p> </p><p>Almost.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I originally was going to combine this chapter and the next one, then I decided it was way too long and would take me FOREVER to get out and even then would have too much in it. So, the next chapter will be similar thematically, but I think by splitting it, I will be able to do a better job developing the characters. But…. I did have to rethink a lot of my chapter titles. OOPS maybe I should, yanno, write the chapter before I title it? Just a thought for future-me.</p><p>Idk man idk what I’m doing</p><p>ANYWAYSSSS I hope you enjoyed the chapter!! Let me know your thoughts in the comments!</p><p>(I write all my rough drafts in present tense and then edit into past tense. I don't do it on purpose, it just happens somehow, in some part of my brain that I don't have full command over. If you see any errors let me know and I will update to fix them!!) (P.S. The spacing change is intentional - I wanna see if you know whyyyy so let me know what you think. ALSO let me know which you prefer because like, if one is more pleasant to read I am not opposed to changing my spacing.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. With one foot in the grave (the other one kicking its way right down to Hell)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year everyone!</p><p>IT'S DONE, IT'S FINALLY DONE!!!!!!! I'M SORRY THIS ONE TOOK SO LONG TO PUBLISH. I have a hard time writing nice things. The next one should be a much quicker update, since I already have it half-written and I am actually excited about it. Anyway I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER!!!!! Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Goro made the decision to steer clear of Leblanc. At least for short while. </p><p> </p><p>While his first real visit to the café hadn’t ultimately been super productive, Goro supposed that it was better than nothing. Him and Kurusu had introduced themselves, shaken hands. While the interaction had not provided some golden solution to Akechi’s problem, he supposed that it at least presented some possibilities for a path forward.</p><p> </p><p>Goro ran through his options once more as he boarded his usual morning train to school.</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu himself was an unusual boy. Goro had observed his actions twice now - the difference between his two personalities as vast as the ocean. One was quick-footed, cocky, and dare he allow himself to conjecture, <em> flirty</em>. The other, the one Goro had met inside the café, had been underwhelmingly meek, trembling behind the mask of his oversized glasses. Bland. Boring.</p><p> </p><p>Harmless.</p><p> </p><p>Akechi <em> could </em> attempt another ambush - perhaps in a different setting, with a different weapon and a different approach. He could position himself upon a rooftop; dispatch the raven through the scope of a rifle and wash his hands of the assignment. It was certainly within the realm of Akechi’s abilities to do so.</p><p> </p><p>So why <em> didn’t </em> he?</p><p> </p><p>Goro preferred to rationalize that it would be more difficult to clean up the mess.</p><p> </p><p>The choice to avoid Leblanc was not driven by discomfort: the atmosphere was peaceful, the company… pleasant, and the coffee beyond excellent. Rather, he thought it would be less suspicious to engage slowly. Kurusu, being new to the city, would find nothing odd with Goro’s regular appearance at the café on weekdays. Sakura-san, however, would notice the appearance of a new regular customer several days in a row - and Goro did not want to be noticed.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, he had plenty of case work and school assignments to finish, as always. Falling behind in those could be just as detrimental as standing out in the back-alley café. Shido would be pleased with neither of those outcomes, meaning that Goro was required to find a balanced solution to each and every problem he faced. Usually, this meant sacrificing the little sleep he was able to fit into his schedule, leaving him exhausted and worse for wear. This time, however, he had some wiggle room.</p><p> </p><p>Goro silently thanked Shido for extending Kurusu’s deadline, and promptly gagged at the thought.</p><p> </p><p>The school day passed slowly. He submitted his homework completed the night prior, collecting any new assignments. He spent his lunch hour avoiding his peers. Stationed in the quiet sanctuary of the library, he poured through the case notes he hadn’t had the chance to process during his last shift at the precinct. He had promised Sae-san that he would complete the work prior to his next shift, and well, he was scheduled again this afternoon. Despite his busy schedule, Goro tried to make the best use possible of the remaining little time he had.</p><p> </p><p>It was raining when classes let out that afternoon, and he rushed beneath his umbrella to reach the bricked police station before stray droplets could soak him completely.</p><p> </p><p>The precinct itself was busy - again, normal for a weekday - as officers, detectives and administrative staff alike bustled about their day. With the exception of a scowl from the receptionist and a nod of hello from Sae, the other occupants paid him no mind as he made his way to his usual desk.</p><p> </p><p>Goro didn’t mind being left alone - he supposed it was easier that way. He accomplished more on his own, without the constant nag of idle conversation and fake pleasantries with people he didn’t care for, and who cared not for him in return. </p><p> </p><p>A stack of paperwork awaited the detective as he arrived at his desk. Well - <em> desk </em> was an interesting word for it. His <em> work station </em>, rather, consisted of a small table and a lumpy, uncomfortable chair in the corner of the bullpen. While he sat alongside the other detectives, he had never been granted the same respect, or even a similar level of decency. Despite being assigned a similar level of responsibility on most of his assigned cases, it was clear that his colleagues had never, for a single moment, considered him their peer. The papers on his desk acted as a trophy of such a mentality: the work that no one else wanted to do, they pushed off to the part-timer simply because they could.</p><p> </p><p>Like with everything else, Goro was given table scraps and told to fend for himself.</p><p> </p><p>Sae-san was the only exception to this treatment: facing the same sort of discrimination and prejudice herself as a result of her gender and her fierce tenacity, they had formed a sort of kinship between the two of them. Shido had gotten him his position as a detective, but Sae-san had taken him beneath her wing, acting as both a shield from the sharpest edges of bureaucracy and as a knowledgeable mentor at the same time. In return, she had earned his honest respect, unlike most of their other colleagues who were simply <em> there </em>. Stationary pawns in an otherwise mobile game of chess.</p><p> </p><p>Today, though, Goro returned his attention to the stack of mundane paperwork awaiting him, stacked upon his desk prior to his arrival. It was as tedious to complete as it was mind-numbingly boring. By the time Goro had reached the halfway mark in his allocated stack, words were spinning on pages, and he felt as though his brain had been scrambled like eggs.</p><p> </p><p>“Go home, Akechi-kun.” Sae’s voice pulled him from the garbled mess that was his mind. He gazed up at the prosecutor and blinked a few times. The woman smirked, pulling the pages away from him.</p><p> </p><p>“I will, but I need to get through this paperwork first.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll finish it. Oshimura always assigns you too much, anyway.” She pried the remaining papers from his hands with a sigh, tucking them beneath her arm. “I’ll remind him of your hours next time I see him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Sae-san, but really, it’s alright.” He reached up in earnest protest only to be gently swatted away.</p><p> </p><p>Sae turned, brushing off his objections with a shrug, already retreating to her small office. “You look exhausted.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, I-.” Goro felt himself bristle internally as he swallowed and fought to keep an instinctive growl from rising in his throat. He forced the corners of his lips upward into a pleasant smile. “I am <em> perfectly capable </em>of completing my assigned work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I have no doubts about that," She laughed, sparing a quick wink in his direction, "but I need my assistant to be sharp for tomorrow, and you won't be if you're up all night filling these out."</p><p> </p><p>Goro sighed. As annoying as it was, he knew the silver haired woman to be right. Both of them too stubborn and ambitious to admit weakness of any sort, it was not uncommon for one to call the other out in moments of backhanded determination. The brunet supposed it was his turn - he bid Sae a brisk nod of gratitude before standing and smoothing down his jacket.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, thank you, Sae-san.” Goro offered her another smile, softer this time as it reached his eyes. “I’ll return the favour.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you will.” Sae quipped before turning her back on him completely. “Now, get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>After a quick bow, the detective finally acquiesced. While the woman’s gestures were certainly well-meant, they never failed to leave a bitter taste upon his tongue. Her kindness reminded him of pity, despite the better, more rational part of his brain contesting that the two were not the same.</p><p> </p><p>Where was the difference, though, between kindness and pity?</p><p> </p><p>Pity was to feel sorrow for the misfortune of others. Kindness, on the other hand, was to offer generosity, friendliness, and support. While on the surface, they may appear to be different (and, certainly, their products may resemble each other the way night resembled day), both kindness and pity found themselves intertwined in the roots of the same tree. They each observed and made note of the short-fallings of others, cataloguing all the ways that their target was <em> less than them </em>. Compassion fell short to comparison in every instance.</p><p> </p><p>No, Goro did not want to be pitied. He did not want each catastrophe of his life flagged for him by others, storied and told back to him as though his very existence was not the seed from which they had sprung. He did not need it thrown back in his face by the heels of the same boot that would not hesitate to crush him like a bug.</p><p> </p><p>He gathered his things and headed for the train station in perfect time to meet the next train home.</p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>A full fortnight passed before Goro had gathered the courage to even attempt to make contact with Kurusu again.</p><p> </p><p>Returning to LeBlanc, he had reasoned, was a deliberate action. It was a <em> choice </em>, he assured himself as his feet carried him from his school grounds to the subway station, switching lines with a mind of their own until he exited the system in Yongen-Jaya.</p><p> </p><p>Goro had nothing to worry about, he reminded himself, as he followed the narrow streets to the entrance of the small café. Kurusu didn’t know who he was - not <em> really </em>, anyway. They had met once already and the boy hadn’t shown a single sign of recognition. Goro had replayed their encounter a thousand times in his head: the awkward interaction between the raven and Sakura, their customary apologies which flowed in both directions, a formal introduction. Pleasantries exchanged, and hearts borne slightly too visible on both of their sleeves.</p><p> </p><p>No. There was <em> nothing to worry about </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Besides, there was no harm in stopping for a nice cup of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>Goro opened the door to LeBlanc to find the café devoid of customers, with the only occupants being Sakura behind the counter and Kurusu himself sitting at the farthest booth. Goro observed the raven quickly, noting his dipped head, bespectacled eyes focused on a spread of papers that were strewn across the table. After a few moments too long, he tore his gaze from the raven as he pressed the tip of his pencil against his pink lips.</p><p> </p><p>Sakura nodded to him as he approached the counter and placed his order. Goro waited in stillness as the older man prepared his coffee - the same drink as last time - forcing his gaze away from the careful scratch of pencil against paper behind his back. Once his order was finished, he bid Sakura a quick thank you as he lifted the ceramic cup, and turned to focus on his true objective.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello again, Kurusu-kun.” Goro plastered his brightest made-for-tv smile upon his face as he greeted the raven.</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu lifted his gaze from the page, wide and curious, before recognition flashed across his gunmetal eyes. “Hey, Akechi.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hope I am not being too bold in asking this, but,” Goro began as he approached the far booth. His gaze dropped to the pages that littered the tabletop rather than meeting Kurusu’s head-on. He was studying Mathematics - something to note, in case conversation topics grew sparse. “Would you mind if I sat with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Go right ahead.” Kurusu’s large glasses glinted with the warm reflection of LeBlanc’s soft lighting. The raven gathered some pages, pushing them aside to make room for the brunet. Goro nodded, slipping into the seat across from him and opening his briefcase to pull out his own work.</p><p> </p><p>For some time, they sat together quietly, working on their respective pages. Every few minutes, a paper would flip, announcing itself with the movement of otherwise still air. Goro thanked his past self for possessing the foresight to bring his work. It served as a welcome distraction - something to stare at as he pretended not to notice the way Kurusu’s gaze broke from his work and studied him.</p><p> </p><p>“How is your semester treating you?” Goro cleared his throat, making the first attempt at bridging the stiff silence between them.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine.” Kurusu responded, suddenly muted, eyes returning to his math homework. “Yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>“It hasn’t been terrible.” Goro answered, eliciting a quiet hum and a nod from the boy in front of him before the space fell into silence once more.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a third year now,” Goro offered, quickly, before the pace of the conversation had a chance to become uncomfortable. “I’ll have to begin studying for university entrance exams soon, and preparing applications and whatnot.” The brunet lifted his cup of coffee - now cooled enough to drink - to his lips and took a slow sip. Rich flavour washed over his tongue, and he savoured it, allowing his eyes to flit closed for a moment before swallowing and returning his watchful gaze to the raven.</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu's lips twitched into a sort of smile - subtle enough that Goro would not have noticed if he had not been watching the boy as carefully as he was.</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds like a lot of work.”</p><p> </p><p>Goro pushed a stray hair out of his face, tucking it carefully behind his ear. “It is. Luckily, I’m starting early so I’ll be able to beat the last minute rush.”</p><p> </p><p>“Any idea what you want to do?” Kurusu returned to his pencil and page, no longer marking words but rather scribbles by the dog-eared corners of his notebook. “In university, I mean.” </p><p> </p><p>“If I had a 5-yen coin for every time someone asked me that, I wouldn't need to consider higher education <em> at all </em>.” Goro laughed, lungs tight and sound sharp. A far cry from his ‘Detective Prince’ persona. He chided himself internally, smoothing his features into calculated pensiveness. “But, in all honesty, I’m not sure. Perhaps law?”</p><p> </p><p>“Law, hm?” Kurusu’s mindless ministrations stilled. His grey eyes darkened, jaw tightened, for a flicker of a second before the moment passed entirely. “Sounds interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>“While that could very well be the case, I-” <em> I wish it were more effective. </em>Goro caught himself, bit back his words as he noticed the heat rising in his cheeks. This was not the place to voice that thought, nor the audience to hear it. It would be better to change the subject entirely, perhaps. “In the end, I suppose it’s only natural that I would pursue such an academic avenue: I work part time as a detective, therefore an education in law would only aid me in advancement.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a detective?” Kurusu swallowed, his face paling. </p><p> </p><p>“An amateur at best, to be clear.” Goro forced out a light giggle. It felt wrong - too bubbly in his chest - as though the strings and sinews of his muscles were pulled too tight across his chest, squeezing him. “All I really do is the paperwork that’s too boring for anyone else to bother with.” </p><p> </p><p>Kurusu nodded. </p><p> </p><p>It was Goro’s turn to swallow, dry and uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you… not a fan of law enforcement?”</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu paused for a long moment, studying Goro’s face. The detective could feel beads of sweat forming across his brow. Were they visible? He hoped not.</p><p> </p><p>Goro drew in a deep breath. Held it. Smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Not particularly, no.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Oh. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Worry not, Kurusu, I won’t let my colleagues in on your secret.” Goro winked, voice again too tight. Brittle.</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu simply stared back at him, eyes narrowed. His chin dipped, raven hair falling to shield his eyes. Goro could now only watch, frozen, as the boy's lips pressed together, turning down at the corners. His pencil dropped, rolling on his page as the raven’s fingers wove tightly together. The detective's gaze followed them, tracing the curve of his wrist, the dips between his whitening knuckles, the length of his fingers themselves, tendons pulled taut.</p><p> </p><p>Goro shivered.</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu’s shoulders began to shake. Tiny, miniscule vibrations, with equally tiny accompanying noises, both of which grew in size.</p><p> </p><p>“Kurusu?” Goro managed, brows knit together, one gloved hand poised to reach out to the other. “Are you-”</p><p> </p><p>Kurusu threw his head back, erupting into a full-bellied laughter. Tears streamed from his eyes as he returned to his hunched state. The raven’s arms wrapped around himself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What- What on earth? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry-” Kurusu choked out between gasps, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, really-”</p><p> </p><p>Goro crossed his arms, brow furrowed. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing-” Kurusu brought a hand to his mouth, obviously attempting to stifle the hiccups that escaped his throat. “Nothing. You just… you have a very unique sense of humor, Akechi.”</p><p> </p><p>“I… see.” He felt his lips begin to form a pout, but he forced them upwards. <em>What was that even supposed to mean? He hadn't told any jokes, as far as he was aware.</em> Surely, Kurusu must have noticed the tightness in his face. It was not Goro “the Detective Prince”’s best day, that much was clear to onlookers.</p><p> </p><p>He would need to get his act together if he wanted any hope of securing the raven’s trust.</p><p> </p><p>The next hour passed in awkward silence, a subtle smirk upon Kurusu’s face, and Goro’s best attempt at anything other than an outright scowl across his own. It was funny, Goro thought, the things one notices about a person when you can observe them unguarded -</p><p> </p><p>- like the way Kurusu chewed at the eraser on his pencil when he wasn’t writing, and at his lip when he was - </p><p> </p><p>- or the way the corner of his lips twitched upward when he solved an especially tricky problem -</p><p> </p><p>- or how his fingers twirled the ends of his dark, unruly hair as he lost himself deep within his own focus.</p><p> </p><p>By the time Kurusu looked up at him again, Goro wasn’t sure what he had spent more time doing: studying, or staring at the boy across from him.</p><p> </p><p><em> Surveillance </em>, he justified.</p><p> </p><p>Grey eyes met maroon, and the brunet cleared his throat. “I’d actually better be heading out now, but thank you for the company. I wish you luck with the rest of your homework.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks.” Kurusu nodded, front teeth biting into his bottom lip. Goro stood from his seat and gathered his papers, piling them neatly back into his briefcase. “Say, Akechi…”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?” Goro glanced up as he closed his case, meeting Kurusu’s perplexed expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Could we exchange contact information?” Kurusu began, a flush creeping onto his pale face. The raven glanced away, studying something <em> incredibly interesting </em> on LeBlanc’s bar counter. “I don’t have many friends in this city, and I... enjoy your company. If you want, we could meet up sometime?”</p><p> </p><p>Goro froze, his mouth stuck in a small ‘o’ shape. His eyes blew wide, but quickly narrowed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What the hell is his play, here? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I mean… it’s fine if you don’t want to, I-”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, no- I’m a bit surprised, that’s all!” The detective sprung forward, hands frantically waving in an attempt to recover. He <em> was </em> friendly, after all. Or, he was supposed to be. Why <em> wouldn’t </em> a friendly person like him exchange contact information? “Sure, I don’t see why not.”</p><p> </p><p>In a matter of moments, they had exchanged chat IDs, and both boys had tucked their phones back into their pockets. It was not an uncommon occurrence for the detective to exchange contact information with those he met, and the motion was well-practiced. He requested the phone numbers of superiors at the precinct, those of different personnel in the media. </p><p> </p><p>This time felt different somehow.</p><p> </p><p>He shed the thought like rainwater.</p><p> </p><p>The detective made his way to the doorway. Low sunset bled through the uncovered windows, casting the floor golden alongside the warm lamplight within the café itself. It dappled the ground; a coalbed. The doors bell chimed as Goro pulled it open.</p><p> </p><p>“Will I see you again?”</p><p> </p><p>Goro turned to face the raven, one hand on LeBlanc’s crooked door frame. Warmth crept across his cheeks. </p><p> </p><p>Goro smiled, and this time he meant it.</p><p> </p><p>“I'm sure of it.”</p><p> </p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>Later;</p><p> </p><p>Long after Goro had bid the raven goodnight and left Leblanc;</p><p> </p><p>Long after the subtle sounds of the city had fallen into familiar silence, and only the rumble of the occasional passing car filled the space;</p><p> </p><p>Goro Akechi sent a single text.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>You [11:37 PM 28/04/20XX]: </em> </b>Hello Kurusu, it’s Akechi. I hope this text doesn’t wake you. I just wanted to thank you for your company earlier. I'd like for us to meet again sometime.</p><p> </p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>Goro awoke the following morning to an anxious pit in his stomach and four text messages. His hand reached for his phone, plucking it from his nightstand with care, as though it might shatter at his touch.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Kurusu Akira [6:29 AM 29/04/20XX]: </em> </b>Hey Akechi! It’s good to hear from you! Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could meet up again, for something other than homework this time ahaha :)</p><p> </p><p>While the text from Kurusu was mundane, perhaps even promising yet slightly uncomfortable, the others were decidedly not any of that.</p><p> </p><p>The pit in Goro’s stomach grew as his eyes scanned his phone screen.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>Unknown Number [4:32 AM 29/04/20XX]: </em> </b> Yoshimura Suzu, tonight, by appointment. <br/><br/></p><p><b> <em>Unknown Number [4:47 AM 29/04/20XX]: </em> </b>And Akechi? </p><p><br/><b><em>Unknown Number [4:48 AM 29/04/20XX]: </em></b>Finish the job this time.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next chapter is going to break a certain someone and I CAN'T WAIT</p><p>MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA &gt;:D</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>